


The Bloody Ones

by starfireone3



Category: Being Human
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-11-12
Updated: 2011-11-11
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:30:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfireone3/pseuds/starfireone3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitchell's got a lot on his plate right now. There's the wolf shaped bullet. Herrick in the attic. And this girl sniffing around about the tunnel murders. Now there's this boy connected to a string of murders in London coming and asking for his help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bloody Ones

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a sample of what I have so far. I have no idea if I want to complete this or not but my brain is going in circles saying that he's not dead so I kind of had to write as much as I have so far.
> 
> Un-beta'd.

“John Mitchell?” The boy’s dialect was American, an almost offensively thick version of the generic midwestern pseudo-drawl. The boy was probably around nineteen, younger than Tom at least, but not that much younger. He had a cloud of blond fluff around his head and shoulders, and so many piercings that Mitchell was sure if the sun hit the boy at the right angle he could blind someone.

“What?” Mitchell grunted. People who already knew his name were always bad news, even if this one did seem to have a beating heart.

“Box Tunnel, John Mitchell?” Mitchell stiffened, definitely bad news. He didn’t need any more hero worshipping sick freaks on his tail, nor did he need any human vigilantes ready to stake him for a turn of his head.

“What’s it to you?” He ground out. “I don’t do autographs. Especially not for the sickos who jumped the pond just to meet me.”

“I didn’t——I’m not——I don’t want.” The boy blanched, his blue, almost purple eyes the only color left in his face. “It’s just that. It’s about the Ms. Bloody Butcher murders.” Mitchell grimaced. He’d seen the news about that: someone in London, whom the authorities thought was female, cutting people up with butcher knives, and puncture wounds in their necks. Mitchell had known right away it wasn’t a vampire and so had put it aside, ignored it as much as he could with it on the news every night.

“You want me to congratulate you on being a sick fuck?” Mitchell narrowed his eyes at the boy, whose color (the little that had been there in the first place) hadn’t yet come back, but the boy held his ground. “You don’t want an autograph. What? You want me to turn you? You came to the wrong person.”

The boy scowled. “I don’t need to be turned.”

“I hate to break it to you kid, but your heart’s still beating.” Mitchell smirked.

The boy swarmed into Mitchell’s face, grasping at his collar, fangs extended and while the boy's eyes weren’t black, the irises had swollen, extended until there was no white left in his eyes, it made Mitchell realize that the boy’s eyes really were a blueish shade of purple rather than a purplish shade of blue.   
“I don’t need to be turned.” He repeated angrily and tossed Mitchell away from him, so that Mitchell’s back slammed hard against the brick wall behind him. The boy gave his head a shake and returned to being the almost skittish looking boy who had first approached him. It took Mitchell a moment to put together what the boy was; Mitchell had never known one in person before.

“You’re a dhamphir and you say that the London murders, aren’t you?” Mitchell snorted. Half-vampire’s were notoriously blood thirsty creatures, vampires tended to kill them on sight.

“It’s a fifty/fifty shot, the crazy blood thirst.” He shrugged. “I get my fair share of wanting to munch on people but it’s not like that. The murders aren’t me. They’re my sister. I’m going to stop her but I need help.” He looked at Mitchell, eyes big and wide and needy and almost blue. “I can’t—” He took a deep breath. “She’s my baby sister. And you, you seem,” he paused, looking for the right word, “capable.”

“Are you asking me to assassinate your sister?” Mitchell was caught between disgusted and intrigued, and had the sinking feeling that the boy was getting to him.

“No. I, I just need back-up in case I can’t do it.” The boy sighed. “I don’t want anyone cold and callus, doing this, but you seem, capable--you got an entire city off blood, until you went and fucked it up.” He folded his arms around himself, looking tired and far older than he was. “Besides, other vampires have tried, but they weren’t strong enough; they weren’t brutal enough. It needs to be you, or someone like you, but I think you’re one of a kind.”


End file.
